The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,45

her slick flesh she shuddered, gasping softly.

She was soft and hot, and very wet, and when he positioned himself, pushing slowly inside her, she welcomed him with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, Vincenzo...yes...’

And he felt that peace again. That stillness. As if he’d been in a room full of unwelcome noise and someone had shut the door, leaving him with blissful quiet.

Nothing but heat. Nothing but pleasure. Nothing but peace.

Her thighs closed around his waist, holding him tight inside her, and then her hands were in his hair, pulling his mouth down on hers, kissing him so sweetly, making him feel as if all of this was new to him too, new and wondrous.

The war inside him ceased and he let himself have this moment of ease, beginning to move, allowing the pleasure to set its own pace, slow and languorous.

She sighed and arched against him, and he paused once to pull her dress off over her head and get rid of her bra, getting rid of his T-shirt too, so that there was nothing between them, nothing but her silky, damp skin against his. And then he kept moving, the thrust of his hips driving them both closer and closer to the edge.

Her kisses became hungry and he gave her back the same hunger, gripping her hips so he could move harder and deeper, the easy pace becoming something more desperate. She tore her mouth from his, kissing his neck and his shoulders, her tongue tasting the hollow of his throat as if she couldn’t get enough of him, frantic, feverish words spilling out of her.

He’d forgotten he was supposed to have no mercy and that he wasn’t going to give her gentleness. Stroking her back and soothing her were automatic and instinctive, as was the need to ease her desperation. He took her hand and guided it down where they were joined, putting his fingers over hers and showing her what to do to increase her pleasure. She writhed as he did so, her body desperate for release, giving harsh little pants and moaning against his neck, so he pressed her finger hard against the bundle of nerves where she was most sensitive, allowing her to tumble over the edge.

And only when she convulsed around him, did he allow himself to thrust hard and deep and fast, letting himself fall over that edge too, tumbling end over end, and down into peace with her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LUCY TRIED TO crawl out from under the blanket thrown over one of the sofas in the salon downstairs, only for a powerful male arm to hook around her waist and draw her back in again.

‘No, you don’t,’ Vincenzo growled, pulling her up against his very hot and very naked body. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

She gave a long-suffering sigh, running a hand down the warm, velvety skin of his back, loving the feel of all that hard muscle beneath her palm, despite the fact that she’d spent most of the day running her hands all over his body. ‘But I’m hungry. Lunch was hours ago.’

He moved, settling himself over her, his weight a delicious pressure pinning her down. ‘You’re always hungry.’

‘So are you.’ She shivered as he pressed his mouth to her throat.

‘It’s true.’ He moved lower, nuzzling against her breast. ‘Luckily I have all the food I need right here.’

‘Yes, but I don’t.’ The word ended on a gasp as he took her nipple in his mouth, the hot pressure making everything inside her go tight.

She couldn’t want him again, surely? They’d done nothing else all day.

After the encounter in his office that morning, he’d been insatiable, taking her upstairs almost immediately and laying her out across the bed, setting about exploring every inch of her body. He’d been slow and relentless and she was pretty sure she’d screamed. More than once.

He’d sent Martina away for the rest of the day after that and forbidden his security to come into the house. Then he’d made her lunch himself, feeding it to her as she lay in bed wrapped only in a sheet. Once lunch had finished, he’d taken her yet again, and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. She’d woken to find herself downstairs on the sofa in the salon, the doors open, and a naked Vincenzo sitting on the floor leaning back against the sofa, doing something on his laptop. He’d known she was awake instantly and had put aside the computer, joining her on the cushions.